


Widow's Moon

by tielan



Series: Black Jewels Atlantis [2]
Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Black Jewels, Alternate Universe - Black Jewels Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Teyla goes missing in Atlantis court, the males closest to her come looking for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Widow's Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted May 2009

After her no-show at training that morning, Aiden went looking for Teyla.

In nearly a month, she hadn’t missed a single morning’s training for anything less than a crisis. And since Lady Elizabeth was in her office, arguing crops with her Steward, Aiden was fairly sure there was no crisis at hand.

He found her sitting in one of the salons out by the water gardens, curled up amidst puffy couch-cushions with a patchquilt wrapped around her.

“Teyla?”

“Yes, Aiden?” She looked up from the book she’d been carefully reading, and Aiden closed his mouth about the question he’d been about to ask. Beneath the rich brown of her skin, she looked pale, and although her expression was polite and pleasant, she was obviously in some pain.

Two steps into the room, and the psychic currents around him coalesced, an unmistakeable scent.

_Moon’s blood._

Which answered the question as to why she hadn’t gone to see Kate or one of the other Healers in the court.

A witch’s moontime lasted three days out of every month, forcing her to drain all her power into her jewels, and preventing her from doing anything but the most basic of Craft unless she wished to suffer excruciating pain. It was a vulnerable time for a witch, to be both physically and psychically unable to defend herself - and as Aiden understood it, the darker a witch’s Jewels, the more painful the moontime.

Teyla wore the Grey - the darkest Jewel in Atlantis Territory.

No surprise that she hadn’t been at training this morning.

“Aiden?”

Protectiveness rose. Teyla was still new to Atlantis court, for all that she’d met and befriended Lady Elizabeth years ago, she’d remained among her people until less than a month ago. While she had friends among the First Circle, Aiden had seen the way she kept to her herself, unaccustomed to the ebb and flow of aristo politics. Along with Sheppard, he’d tried to help her integrate into the court, even as other aristos sneered at the ‘country bumpkin’ among them.

“Is there anything you need?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Coming from Teyla, that was a barbed question. Aiden opened his mouth and hesitated.

His reason told him to tread with care. His instincts were screaming at him to hover and make sure she was cared for. He trusted his reasoning, but he had to give his instincts some leeway. Maybe he wasn’t a Warlord Prince like Sheppard, or a Prince like McKay, but he was a Warlord, and a male of the Blood, and a witch in his personal circle was having her moontime and vulnerable. Walk away from this? Not by his Jewels.

“I was just thinking, you look so comfy there, there’s no reason for you to get up and fetch it if I’m here to do it,” he told her. “So, is there anything you want?”

“If I needed anything, I could get it myself, Aiden.”

“But you don’t have to,” he said, moving across the room and sitting himself down in the armchair near her. “Because I’m here to get it." A pile of books sat on the side table, and he reached out and pulled one over, frowning a little at the cover. _Song-spells For Summer Days_. Not exactly his usual kind of reading, but something that would give the appearance of occupying him long enough so he could work out how to persuade her to let him be of service.

He could feel Teyla watching him with a pointed gaze, her lids low over dark, measuring eyes. Maybe Aiden should have been more worried at the displeasure of a very powerful Black Widow, but it was her moontime, and she was a long way from her village and her people.

He settled himself back in the chair, relaxing back into the cushions as he sent Prince Caldwell a message on a spear thread to let him know why he wouldn’t be at the warriors’ meeting later this morning. The Master of the Guard would understand - he should, being of Lady Elizabeth’s First Circle himself.

The trick would be making it seem like Aiden had things under control, so that Caldwell wouldn’t feel the need to turn up himself. Aiden could claim precedence against another Warlord, maybe even with a Prince. But he wouldn’t have a chance against a Warlord Prince.

“Aiden?” It seemed she’d grown impatient with his silence.

“Teyla?”

“What if I do not _want_ you here?”

He smiled at her - a kindly smile, not a triumphant one - and played his trump card. “Teyla, look at it this way. You can have me sitting here offering to get things for you, or you can have Sheppard.”

She paled to a light tan. Her expression shut down. Her lips snapped closed.

And Aiden’s presence wasn’t questioned again.

\--

Rodney found it exceedingly frustrating that Teyla always managed to vanish right when he wanted to ask her a question about a spell he was working on.

Teyla wasn’t in her rooms or her workroom. He couldn’t find her out in the gardens, and nobody had seen her this morning. She _might_ be in the meeting with Elizabeth and Carson, but that was unlikely - what would a village-bred Black Widow know about the management of a Territory?

John was in a meeting with his father's man of business, and Laura had gone into town with Katie to do some shopping. Kate was in her stillroom, reading a book on potions for the easing of aches in the head. “I haven’t seen her at all today,” she said. “But if she hasn’t been seen today, it might be that she wants the quiet.”

Rodney was on his way back to his workroom when he remembered a conversation with Teyla about the riverside salons, and how restful they were. Assuming Kate was right and she wanted the quiet, that might be a place she’d head for.

He found her in the third salon debating landen moral philosophies with - of all people - Aiden Ford.

“What in the name of the Darkness are you doing _here_?” His question to Teyla was half out of his mouth when the meaning of her psychic scent waved frantic hands to get his attention, but his lips and tongue kept going, his internal censors too late to stop the flow of syllables. He managed a distinctly inadequate, “Oh,” as her expression frosted over.

The change from cheerful antagonist to prickly witch was abrupt and unnerving. All the more because this was Teyla.

“Rodney.” Teyla sounded distinctly grumpy. “What do you want?”

Beneath the chill of her words, though, the scent of her moontime tinged the psychic currents of the room with suppressed pain. Rodney’s eyes narrowed. She was in pain, and Ford hadn’t even tried to get her anything for the pain - not even a tea or herbal brew!

“Well, for starters, you can tell me just exactly what you’re doing out of bed when you’re clearly--”

Her eyes began frosting over as he began speaking, and she interrupted before he got to the end. “Clearly what, Rodney?”

_*Good one, McKay!*_ Ford snapped on a spear thread. _*I was trying not to suggest that she’s helpless!*_

_*She **is** helpless right now!*_ Rodney retorted. _*She’s vulnerable in her moontimes, and should be being pampered.*_

_*This is **Teyla**,*_ pointed out the young Warlord dryly. _*For her, this **is** being pampered. Look, it’s all I could do to get her to stay here and not go running off proving she’s fine!*_

_*Maybe you’re not trying hard enough!*_ Then again, Rodney didn’t know of a witch who enjoyed being helpless during her moontime - vulnerable and without the full control of her magic. And Teyla, Grey-Jewelled and wary for reasons that made even him furious to think about, would dislike it more than most.

“If you gentlemen have finished your psychic conversation...” Teyla said, and her voice was still icy. “I would like to be left alone.”

Her pointed gaze took in Ford as well, who shrugged and didn’t move an inch from the chair he was in.

*_We were doing fine before you barged in_.*

Hm. Someone was prickly. Or possibly afraid of being outranked? After all, Rodney wore a darker Jewel and was of a higher caste. Still, the young Warlord had primacy of claim in this. As a Prince, Rodney might outrank a Warlord, but he had respect for the caste’s aggressive tendencies - more overt than even the protectiveness of Princes.

Maybe it was time for a change of tack.

“All right,” he said to Teyla, taking a mollifying tone he had no intention of following through on. “I’ll leave you alone, but since I’m here and you’re here, I wanted to ask your opinion on a spell I was trying to work on this morning - at least until it got stuck on me.”

She eyed him suspiciously, suspecting a trap. Which it was, in a way - after all, her interest was already caught. “What kind of a spell?”

“To study how matter holds together. I got it from a book I borrowed off Lady Samantha of Cheyenne Territory.”

“Does she know you borrowed it?” Teyla arched her brows as he called in the book and she held out her hands.

Rodney feigned offence as he flipped it open at the correct page and put it in her hands. “Please! I know better than to borrow a witch’s book without asking first!”

Now her lips curved, her annoyance forgotten. “I apologise for implying any such thing,” she said, lowering her gaze to the book. “And you did the spell exactly as written?”

“Well, not exactly as written.” Rodney leaned over to point out the passage in the book that he thought was giving him trouble. “See, I did it exactly as written, but it didn’t work right and the room was a mess when the smoke cleared. So I began varying the process - the ingredients weren’t a problem, but the process-- Like, here, where it says to stir the potion before decanting. Only that rakes up all the stuff that’s drifted down to the bottom - which we don’t want anyway-- I made notes--”

For all her earlier coldness, Teyla didn’t even look up as Rodney sat down next to her on the couch and began pointing out his notes, her eyes on the page, her attention off her situation and the males who, only moments before, had been annoying her.

*_Okay_,* Ford conceded, still on a spear thread. *_That was pretty smooth_.*

*_I know_,* Rodney said smugly as Teyla pondered the spell, her fingers tracing the lines on the page. *_Now, if you want to be useful, flag a servant and get us some tea_.*

\--

John thought about snagging a servant to ask if they knew where Teyla was, but discarded the idea almost immediately.

New to Atlantis court, unfamiliar with aristo ways, and ignorant of the politics she'd interrupted by her presence, there was enough chatter going around about the Athosian Black Widow without adding the gossip that John Sheppard, First Escort, was interested in her.

Looking for Teyla had nothing to do with his interest in her, and everything to do with her absence from not only training, but also breakfast, and her workroom when John had gone looking for her during a break with his father's man of business. He'd gone looking for her during his mid-morning break as much to find out why she hadn't been at training and breakfast, as to give him a little sanity space before he plunged back into his family affairs.

And now it was nearly lunchtime, and he'd seen no sign that she'd been anywhere this morning.

When he found Rodney's workroom dark and unattended, John figured it was time for desperate measures.

_*Rodney?*_

_*What do you want?*_

_*Seen Teyla this morning?*_

_*As a matter of fact, I'm with her now.*_ John frowned at the ebullience in Rodney's psychic tone.

_*And where's that?*_

_*Weren't you in a meeting with your man of business?*_

_*He's my father's man of business, and answer the question.*_

There was a moment of silence before Rodney admitted, _*River salon. But she's okay now, John.*_

Immediately, John began heading for the river wing of the house, passing people in the corridors and giving them no more than a brief nod. He felt edgy, like the world was sharp glass and poking into him, and after Rodney's comment, he wanted to see Teyla. _*She wasn't before?*_

He sensed Rodney's sudden flare of panic as he realised what he'd implied. _*Well, no, she was fine before but she's-- Look, we've got everything under control.*_

_*We?*_ Now he _really_ wanted to see Teyla for himself.

As he walked the corridor with the various rooms for reading and social gatherings, John hesitated. Something in the psychic scents here was different. He stopped as Teyla's laugh bubbled through the air, a delighted mirth that tightened something in his gut. A moment later, he recognised the scent and felt his temper rise.

He moved to the open door of the salon, soft and slow as one of the huntcats stalking prey, and peered inside.

Teyla was standing with Ford on the large, patterned carpet in the middle of the room, poised as though in the middle of a formal dance when the music had stopped, although she wore a knitted sweater that had seen better days, and a pair of old, loose trousers whose bagginess still couldn't disguise the lithe grace of her figure.

She was still smiling at whatever Aiden had just said, her head turned towards the young Warlord, away from the door, while Rodney gave his pithy opinion of Aiden's dancing tutelage.

"...not really necessary for you to learn them," he was saying. "I never dance..."

He stuttered to a halt as John walked into the room.

On another day, John might have been amused at the way Aiden dropped his hands from Teyla's waist and stepped back - an instinctive retreat when challenged by an older, dominant male. Another day, he might have smirked at the way Rodney paled and began to stutter some kind of excuse.

Another day; not today.

His focus went immediately on the woman whose chin lifted like a witch who knew she was about to be in trouble with a Warlord Prince - defiant and angry. Between one moment and the next, she went from a laughing witch to a silent and dangerous Black Widow.

"You should have said it was your moontime."

Teyla tilted her head and her eyes had hardened to stone. "I did not realise it was incumbent upon me to inform you."

John stiffened as though she'd slapped him. In a way, she had. "You're First Circle now."

"That gives you the right to run Elizabeth's life," she said. "Not mine."

"That's where you're wrong. In a Queen's Court, males are expected to worry about the witches in their Circle." At least, they were in Atlantis.

Her lips tightened for a moment. "There is nothing for you to worry about."

She'd adopted the stiff, careful pose he remembered only too well from that first week she'd come to Atlantis as a young Black Widow sent by her mentor to weave a dream web for Lady Melia. And John felt anger rising inside him, a Warlord Prince's instinctive response to being shut out by a witch for whom he felt responsible.

"When you skipped training without giving a reason? That's something to worry about." And she was having her moontime. Alone, away from her people, away from any males who'd have protected her and cherished her each moon's blood since her first, and she hadn't said a thing to anyone. Unless she had.

John looked at Ford, who took another step back, as though distance would save him if the older male went to the killing edge.

"I only found out this morning, sir."

"Don't even think it," said Rodney before John could look his way. "I was looking for help with a spell."

That eased his temper a little. If she'd been stubborn, it had been with all of them, not just him. John wasn't excluded, just the last to find out.

"This does not have to concern you, John. In fact," she added with pointed glances at the other two, "it does not have to concern any of you."

"Hah," came Rodney's pronouncement. "And who was it brought you tea?"

"That would be me, actually," said Ford, lifting his hand with a faint glare at Rodney.

Teyla frowned at them both and John felt a sudden flare of triumph. He wondered if she was aware that she hadn't said that her moon's blood _didn't_ concern them, only that it didn't _have_ to concern them.

A male could work with that.

"You know, you're right," John said, walking into the room until he was standing on the carpet, like a fighter entering the yard. He was the highest ranked male in the room; he had the right to step up and make the point. She didn't have to listen, of course, but she would. "This doesn't _have_ to concern us, Teyla."

"But?"

Oh, yes, this was the way to manage her - no arguing, no fighting, but no giving in either. The males of the First Circle had unspoken rights and responsibilities when it came to care or concern about the First Circle witches, and John had no intention of relinquishing even an inch of either.

He'd spent his boyhood and adolescence getting in Elizabeth's face - the Queen he'd chosen to serve, even before she realised he had. And Teyla was no adolescent Queen, annoyed and snarly with the males around her in the midst of her moontimes. He doubted she'd been the snarly kind even in her adolescence - but he'd bet that more than a few of the males in Athos had sported frozen balls after a setdown by Teyla.

Hell, John might sport frozen balls after this.

But in the end, John was a Warlord Prince, and no Warlord Prince backed down when it came to the safety and care of a witch he cared about.

"But it _does_ concern us," he said.

The statement stood in the room between them, unqualified, unmitigated. A declaration of intent and purpose, and a line drawn in the ground before Teyla. She could back away at the cost of rejecting John - and Rodney, and Ford - and the part they wanted to have in her life, or she could cross it and accept them and all that acceptance implied - including their right to fuss over her, to look after her, to protect her.

_Your choice, Teyla._

Only, it wasn't a choice - not for a witch like Teyla who understood the needs of Blood males in a court like Atlantis.

"I suppose you expect me to let you fuss," she said at last.

Around the room, the tension eased a little. "We'd appreciate it if you did," John said with frank honesty, and grinned when she stared at him.

John could feel Aiden's surprise, Rodney's pique - it was rare to be so direct in dealing with a witch in her moontime. But Teyla wasn't an aristo witch, pampered and petted by the males of her family, and he had a feeling her boundaries were more fragile than most of the witches in Atlantis court. So he wouldn't push them as hard as he might with another witch.

She considered him for a moment, then glanced at Aiden and Rodney. And when she turned back to him, there was acceptance in her expression, although she seemed more annoyed with it than anything else. John relaxed, knowing she'd given them the right to fuss - the right to a say in her life as friends and males who cared for her and served her - if not as Blood males served the Queen, then as friends looked after friends.

With a roll of her eyes she stalked back to her chair and tucked herself into the corner, facing John and crossing her arms over her chest. "Very well," she said after a moment. "You may get us lunch."

It wasn't quite the service John had expected to be offered. He stared, only too aware of the other two, trying to hide their amusement at the way the tables had turned.

"Lunch?"

"I am hungry," she said. " Aiden was teaching me to dance before you interrupted. He can continue to do so until you return with our food."

"Lunch?" John hovered between amusement and offence that he'd been reduced from aristo Warlord Prince to mere serving man and errand boy.

Then he saw her expression - the shadow of fear beneath the provocative defiance. She'd laid her safety in his hands - in his hands and Rodney's and Aiden's - with her acceptance of his protection during her moontime. For a village witch now living in an aristo court, that was a big thing.

"All right," he said.

"Mrs. Matthews was making stew this morning," Teyla informed him, and although her tones were crisp, something in her had relaxed - a subtle fear eased.

"Rodney? Aiden?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Please."

He was nearly at the door when she called his name and he turned. "Yes?"

Teyla's mouth curved in a smile, slight and strangely tender. "Thank you, John."

Before the unexpected sweetness, John felt suddenly constrained - restrained. "I serve."

Simple words, but as meaningful as the ones he'd sworn when he'd taken service in his Queen's court. And with a significance he knew Rodney and Aiden understood.

Maybe Teyla understood it too. "I know. That is why I said 'thank you.'" And she glanced at Rodney and Aiden before looking back to John.

John went to get lunch, leaving the others behind. But out in the corridor, he found a smile hovering on his lips all the way to the kitchen.

\--


End file.
